Two Months Later
by Takada Saiko
Summary: AU(had an alternate ending), Two months after the ordeal with John Shooter, Mort thinks he's safe. His ex wife Amy and he are getting along better, even if she is still with Ted, and he's writing his book, but what happens when Shooter returns?
1. Default Chapter

**Two Months Later**  
  
Author: Saiko  
  
A/N: Does anyone else find it slightly alarming to write fanfiction on this particular plot line? Oh well, this is AU (Alternate Universe) b/c I didn't like the ending. I don't tend to like to change endings to movies (and I haven't gotten to the end of the book, so I don't know about that), so this will be an exception for me. It will also have a bit of supernatural in it, I suppose, since I want to save poor Mort from the ending of the movie. My almost-boyfriend said I liked him b/c he's played by Johnny Depp (which is true on various superficial levels b/c of Mr. Depp's lovely looks and other levels b/c of his wonderful acting), but I really like Mort Rainey b/c I can connect with him. Not the whole killing part, but other things. Oh, and I don't own the characters, obviously.  
  
A/N2: Anna Maxwell and I were discussing the idea of authors really being crazy. I mean, if you really look about you, most authors (that write any amount of time) are a bit off kilter. (which is not necessarily a bad thing). Anyway, my theory is this: if everyone else had plots running through their brains all the time and unable to get them out except to write them down – which sometimes isn't possible due to lack of time or writer's block – then they'd be crazy too. It's like having your own personal crazy voice running in your head. Anna calls these "plot bunnies". Just a bit I thought you might be interested to know. Onto the story!  
  
** I**  
  
Mort Rainey sniffled for what seemed like the hundredth time that hour as he slumped in his seat at his desk. This particular book had been going well. He had started it only a few days before and had worked near non stop at it. These were the types of days when it would have taken an act of God Himself to stop Mort from writing. Poor Mrs. Gavin had tried and tried to fix him lunch the day she had come to clean, but he'd finally turned the music up in the earphones and went back to work.  
  
With such a wonderful start, one might expect the book to go with little difficulty, but writer's block is an author's worst enemy, as Mort well knew, and his dear, loathed enemy was back with a vengeance. Better writers' block than John Shooter back to haunt you, a voice in his head told him. He nodded in agreement as he pulled the slinky from off his desk and sneezed again. His lack of sleep, nutrition, and the damp weather outside had led to a troublesome cold.  
  
Mort felt himself shudder slightly at the thought of John Shooter. The incident still kept him up at night. His depression had subsided since the ordeal – he wasn't quite sure why – but he had slept little due to his writings and his nightmares. He ran his hands along his face and through his tangled hair, his mind involuntarily flashing back to the day that John Shooter had told him that he was a part of the author. It had taken everything Mort had in him – which wasn't easy at that point – to force Shooter out of his conscious or any part of his mind. Then Amy had come in....  
  
_"The story, gotta fix the ending," Mort mumbled, voice shaking.  
  
"An' 'ow do ya suppose we do that, Mr. Rainey?"  
  
Mort shook his head, hands clinched at his side. "Get rid of you before you can kill anyone else!" he screamed. "Get outa my house! Get outa my life! Get away from Amy and everyone else, just LEAVE!"  
  
"Can't do that, Mr. Rainey," Shooter said, his voice almost sounding sad. "We're not done here yet."  
  
Mort felt something blunt come down across his head and he stumbled back and slid down the wall. He tried to keep his eyes open as his vision swam. He'd seen Amy's car. She was going to get involved in all of this without even knowing why. What if she blamed him?  
  
"Mort?" her voice floated into the room. She scanned the room, eyes finally landing on the still form of her almost ex-husband. "Mort!"  
  
The sound of Amy's voice brought the author swimming back to the surface of consciousness. "Amy?"  
  
"Oh my... What happened here?"  
  
Mort reached a careful hand to his head, silently thankful it hadn't been a screwdriver Shooter had driven into him. "Amy, get the hell out of here," he mumbled. "Don't ask questions, just leave and I'll explain later when I can. It's not safe." His own words sounded far from him.  
  
"No, Mort, I'm not leaving you with whatever's in here. C'mon, let's get you out of here." She narrowed her eyes as his widened. "What?" She turned to see what the author was looking at and couldn't withhold a scream. John Shooter stood there, looming over her.  
  
"Get out, Amy," Mort hissed.  
  
"I thought it wasn't a problem!" she half screeched back.  
  
"It turned out to be more! This isn't the time!"  
  
Shooter gave a small chuckle. "Sorry to involve you, missy, but I just had no choice. Mr. Rainey wouldn't fix my story on his own."  
  
"Leave the damn story problem between you and me!" Mort yelled.  
  
"It's gone beyond that, Mr. Rainey."  
  
"Run, Amy!"  
  
Run she did, though Shooter followed, but now without a look that said he'd be back. Mort stumbled to his feet after them. No way he'd let this wacko take the woman he loved. Not in this life.  
  
Amy had stumbled on her way out, her head smacking against a rock. Shooter was over her, looking down right evil. Mort slammed into him, both men rolling to the ground.  
  
The sound of the police sirens mixed with his all ready spinning head and the quick trip to the dirt made Mort sway as he stood. He vaguely realized that Ted came flying from the other side of the house with his cell phone in hand. The author reached out to steady himself and found nothing but the hard ground.  
_  
"Mort?"  
  
Mort stirred slightly at the sound of his name. He then woke with a start, tipping his chair back in the rush to sit up from where he'd leaned forward to sleep against his desk. He felt his head connect hard with the floor and groaned loudly. "What the hell?" he growled. He blinked several times, realized his glasses were still on the desk, and stood slowly, reaching for them. Amy came into focus. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Good to see you too, Mort," she laughed. "You okay?"  
  
He forced a small smile that faded just as quickly as it had come. "Always good to see you, but really, Amy, what are you doing here?"  
  
"I tried calling."  
  
"I unplugged the phone. I've had a sudden case of writer's block."  
  
"Well I got scared so I came."  
  
"He's locked away, Amy," Mort pointed out after a length. He had told himself that many a night after waking to his own screams.  
  
Amy shook her head. "No, Mort, he got out. That's why I was calling you. I thought maybe he'd..." She sniffled, eyes tearing up. "I'm sorry, Mort, I know you hate it when I come here sobbing, but I thought maybe he'd come after you again."  
  
"Did you come alone?" If she had, she was a fool, and that was not something Mort thought of his former wife.  
  
Amy looked at the floor. "Ted's out in the car."  
  
Mort nodded. Ted had been a bit wary of him since the whole incident. "Sorry to scare you, Amy."  
  
She sniffed again and flung her arms around him. "Never do that to me again, Morton Rainey," she grumbled into his tattered house robe. She pulled back suddenly and her hand went to his face. "You're sick."  
  
"'scuse me?" he mumbled.  
  
"You're burning up, Mort. Did you get that absorbed again?"  
  
Mort pulled away. It was that tone again. That tone that he hated. What have you gone and done this time, Mort? "Yeah, but that's not really your problem, is it?"  
  
Amy sighed. "Listen...."  
  
"I'm sorry, Amy," her ex husband answered. "Really I am. I'm tired, don't feel well, and suddenly very stressed with the news that Shooter might be around again."  
  
"I never quite understood him, Mort. You know they found no records of him where he said he was from, or anywhere for that matter. I know he might have a pseudonym, but really, wouldn't they be able to find something?"  
  
No need to tell her that it was very possible John Shooter was a part of his darker subconscious that had simply worked his way out to a point where he became real physically. No need to PROVE he was crazy, right? Right. "I don't know. They haven't."  
  
Amy nodded slowly. "Will you come with us, Mort? I know you don't like Ted, but I'm worried about you out here. What if he comes after you? Just come back into town with us, hmm?"  
  
Mort shook his head. "No. It'd be awkward, and you know it."  
  
"But I'd know you were safe and it'd do my nerves some good."  
  
"I've got to finish my book, Amy, I'm on a bit of a deadline. Self – imposed, but still a deadline. I'll walk you out to the car and plug the phone back in if it'll make you feel better. You can watch me do it if you don't believe me."  
  
"Fine, but I'll be calling you a lot. I worry about you, you know."  
  
He gave her a forced smile and they started down the stairs. He had to close his eyes for a moment. It still hurt, he wasn't going to lie to himself, but the worst was over. Amy was out the door by the time he reached the phone to plug it in. The scream made him jump. "Amy?!" He rushed out the door to find her stumbling backwards and into him, hands over her mouth. She turned and buried her face in his shirt. "Amy?"  
  
"He's dead... Oh my... He killed Ted, Mort! He killed him!"  
  
Mort had wrapped his arms around the shaking woman protectively but now released her to see what she was talking about. He hated Ted Milner, with a passion, and he'd even wanted him dead at one point, but he'd about decided that if this idiot made his Amy happy, then he'd have to live with it. Ted was still in the driver's seat, leaned back and had an ax through his heart. Certainly something Shooter would do, if for nothing else than to get Mort's attention.  
  
The author turned back to his ex wife and she sobbed into his shoulder. "Let's go down to the police," he said quietly.  
  
"Maybe he's not dead, Mort, maybe..."  
  
"He's dead, Amy. I'm sorry, but he is. No one survives that."  
  
She nodded, fear shining in her eyes.  
  
"Don't worry, Amy," Mort whispered as he held her close. "I'm not going to let him hurt you." He didn't know how much truth there were in his words. He hadn't really done much in the struggle against him two months earlier, and certainly in his half-ill condition that he found himself in now he could only do less. He decided that would be handled later. For now he guided Amy to his SUV and got her inside.  
  
---------------------  
  
A/N: Okay! First chapter. If any of you have read my PotC fics, you know the drill. The more you review the faster I go. I've got a good part of this story in my head as it is, and so I'm ready to get rolling on it, if people are ready to read! Hope to see your reviews. Feed my addiction, please.  
  
TS


	2. ch2

A/N:  
  
A quick comment to Johnny Depp's # 1 fan: First off, lovely name! ::grins:: But anyway, to explain what you asked me to explain in your review. Sorry if I didn't make myself clear enough, I've been having problems as of late with getting what's in my brain into writing. Here's the deal: In my first authors notes I made the comment that it was going to be slightly supernatural so that I could get Mort out of the movie's ending and it's also alternate universe. (personally I just scan over author's notes unless I have reason to do otherwise – which I've gotten better about lately lol – and that's why I'm rewriting all that) So what I tried to let the readers know through the flashback and a couple comments in the story was that basically Shooter, while he was a part of Mort's subconscious, became tangible... I suppose that's what I'm trying to say. I had a part in the first chapter, " No need to tell her that it was very possible John Shooter was a part of his darker subconscious that had simply worked his way out to a point where he became real physically" that was supposed to reveal that part of the story, but I guess I didn't do it very well. So as it stands now, John Shooter and Mort Rainey are two separate people, even if they were originally part of the same chaotic mind. Does that make any since? If not.... I dunno, I guess just say so and maybe we can discuss it over email or something b/c I'm not sure how I can make my crazy thoughts any clearer than that. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
**II  
**  
By the time they reached the police station Amy was no longer sobbing, just shaking quietly. She'd glance over at Mort from time to time to see him with his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead of them and his knuckles white from clenching the steering wheel. When he pulled the car up to the police station, they simply sat there for a moment. Sleep would certainly not be coming any time soon that was certain.  
  
"Mort?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Shouldn't we get out?"  
  
Mort turned his dark eyes towards Amy. She was sitting there, hands clamped together in her lap, eyes fixated on him. He swallowed hard. He had to keep his own nerves under control for just a bit longer.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
They both slowly slid from the car and made their way up the stairs. Amy leaned heavily on Mort, almost as if she were afraid to leave his side. What? She cared if something happened to him? Mort forced a frown away. _She's cared a lot more since everything was settled two months ago_, a voice reminded him.  
  
_ She's cared a lot more in the past few minutes since Ted died_, he responded silently to the voice in his head.  
  
Dave Newsome was at his desk – needlework in hand – when the two entered. He looked up, waving. "Mort Rainey, how are you?" He paused. "You okay, you look like you've seen a ghost. You too, Mrs.... Amy."  
  
"Apparently Shooter's gotten out." Mort got right to the point.  
  
"I was going to call you about that."  
  
_Don't freak out. He's senile, that's all._ "Yeah, ya know, if you'd let me know just a bit earlier then maybe Amy and Ted wouldn't have come down and Ted wouldn't have met with an axe Shooter picked up somewhere."  
  
Newsome looked up from whatever he was writing. "What?"  
  
"He killed Ted," Amy sniffed.  
  
--------------------  
  
The explanation did little good, Mort was sure. By the end of it all, he felt horrible. He was sure that his fever had risen and his head felt as if it might explode from an oncoming migraine. Of all the timing....  
  
Newsome said he'd send some men out to the lake house to look at the damage done. Shooter would be the prime suspect, more than likely. Mort mentioned that the axe had had his name on it, coming from his storage shed he was sure. _Note to self: get rid of all sharp, deadly objects around the lake house._ Amy said that she could vouch for her ex's whereabouts from the moment she left the car – Ted thoroughly alive and well – to when she had walked out to find her lover dead.  
  
"I'd suggest you both find some place to stay until tomorrow, pack your things, and get away for a while."  
  
"Where might I ask that we stay?" Mort growled. "It's not like the lake house is safe with him running about."  
  
"There's a motel a ways down," Newsome said thoughtfully.  
  
Flashbacks hit Mort and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the here and now. "Lake house sounds great for me," he mumbled.  
  
"Mort..." Amy began. She motioned for him to follow her out the door for a moment. He did so. "Mort, it's not safe."  
  
"I'm not going to that motel, Amy," Mort answered firmly. "I can't." He paused, running his hands through his hair in an agitated manner. "Listen, if you want to go, fine, I'm sure they'll send a cop with you, but I can't."  
  
"Then can I go to the lake house with you?"  
  
Mort stared at her in surprise. "I guess, if you want. Why?"  
  
Amy glared slightly. "Not everything I do is meant to hurt you, Mort. I'm scared, and I want this to be over, but I don't to be alone. If you were honest to yourself, would you want to be alone now?"  
  
Mort frowned. "No," he said at length. "C'mon. Let's just get back."  
  
----------------  
  
A/N: Sorry, short chapter. Spent all my mind on my attempt at explanation. Hope it was worth it! 


	3. ch3

**III**  
  
The police were nearly done at the lake house by the time Mort and Amy drove up. Amy turned as she saw a covered body being taken away. "When will this all just be over?" she grumbled.  
  
"Not soon enough," Mort whispered, stepping out of the car. It was all a rush of emotions and a blur to the both of them as the police told the former couple that the area was secure and that John Shooter was nowhere in site. The gave Amy their condolences.  
  
A fairly young officer approached Mort. "I'm sorry to bother you at such a time, but I'm a big fan..."  
  
"Oh of all the times," Amy grumbled.  
  
"I'm sorry," Mort managed as he stepped aside. "If it were any other time, I'd be happy to talk with you, but now is just not a good time." Amy had always hated autograph seekers.  
  
"Of course, so sorry...."  
  
Mort forced a small smile, nodding his thanks as he led Amy into the house. She sat on the couch and hugged a pillow to herself as she watched Mort carefully lock the door and all the windows. He might have looked paranoid if she didn't know any better. He carefully checked and rechecked everything, stopped, listened, and then rechecked again.  
  
"You want something to drink?" he asked after a long while of silence. "I've been needing to go to the store, but I've got... Hmm..." He mumbled a bit to himself as he looked through the fridge. He grinned slightly when he reappeared over the top of the fridge door with a Mountain Dew in hand. "'bout all I've got," he said as he held it out.  
  
Amy suppressed a laugh, but a smile broke through. "You still drinking those?"  
  
"What? Something wrong with them?"  
  
She finally laughed. "No. Better than Jack Daniels, I'll tell you that."  
  
Mort tensed at this and frowned slightly. "Do you want it or not, Amy?"  
  
She stood slowly and took the soda. "I'm sorry, Mort..."  
  
He shrugged, pretending not to care. "I'm going to go write for a while, see if I can get over this writer's block."  
  
Amy watched him go halfway up the stairs before calling after him and following him. "You're still sick. Shouldn't you be resting?"  
  
Mort gave her a small smile. "I'm fine, Amy."  
  
"You're pale."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Dammit! No you're not, Mort! Just come here for a second, would you?" She finally caught up with him at the top of the stairs and put a hand to his cheek. He felt warmer than he had before. He did not make a move to pull away as her fingers wandered to his hair. "Stubborn, stubborn man," she muttered as she ran her fingers through his mussed hair. "That's always what drove me mad about you, you know that? You were so stubborn in whatever you were at at the moment. Your writings, your thoughts, me at the beginning...."  
  
"We're not doing this," Mort said suddenly as he pulled away. "I can't handle this now, Amy."  
  
Amy looked down. "It's late, Mort, maybe we should both get some sleep?"  
  
The blond man looked at his watch – replaced since the incident with the dead bodies – and nodded. "Maybe. I'll take the couch, you can have the bed."  
  
"I don't want to run you out of your bed, Mort."  
  
"I sleep on the couch most of the time anyway."  
  
Amy seemed to think about this for a moment. "I don't want to be alone," she mumbled at length.  
  
Mort sighed. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He pushed back his hair from his face. "Listen, Amy, I can't handle this, okay? I don't know what it is.... Shock or whatever over Ted, and I'm sorry, really I am, but you can't just use me for whatever it is you were going to use me for." He paused when tears welled up in her eyes. "Amy....."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mort, I know what you must be thinking..."  
  
"No, you really have no idea, Amy."  
  
She looked up at him, questioning.  
  
"I'm thinking right now: 'Didn't I just convince myself I was over her so she'd be happy?'"  
  
"I'm sorry, Mort...." She whispered, tears spilling now.  
  
"But I'm not over you, Amy, that's the problem. I want to help you, but I can't... I can't just be your shoulder to lean on and sleep right there next to you because your scared that he'll come through the window. I just can't _DO_ that, do you understand?"  
  
"What if things went back to normal, Mort?"  
  
"That can't happen, Amy," he whispered. "Unless you didn't notice, you left me to go screw some guy and didn't tell me until I walked in on you. Now you're coming back asking to go back to normal, and if he weren't dead I'd have jumped on the offer, but come on, Amy! He died! You're in shock, it'll wear off eventually and then I'll become nothing to you again."  
  
"You were never nothing, Mort."  
  
"I was _always _nothing."  
  
Amy couldn't say anything else. She nodded slowly and wiped her tears away. "I'll be in the bedroom if you need me. Sleep well," she managed as she disappeared.  
  
Mort stumbled over to his computer desk and sat down. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he murmured as he pulled up the file of his new book.  
  
---------------  
  
Mort Rainey didn't know he was asleep until he heard a scream come from the bedroom. He opened his eyes slowly, regaining his bearings about him. That was a woman's scream, wasn't it? That couldn't be, because no women lived in this house. _Wait... Amy is here! Amy is in trouble!  
_  
He was up in a flash, running to the room and flung the door open. She was sitting up in bed, seat pouring down off of her, fear in her eyes. There was a note nailed into the bedpost over where Amy was sitting. "He came in," she managed. "Covered my mouth and I couldn't do anything... Did he hurt you?"  
  
"How the hell did I sleep through that?" he mumbled.  
  
"He went out the window..."  
  
Mort moved toward her carefully and wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his shirt. He let her cry as he pulled her closer, resting his own face in her blond hair. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to make you cry..."  
  
"I know," she sniffed. "I'm sorry, Mort... I don't know what I'm thinking or feeling right now. I loved you when we were married, I really did. And then I loved Ted... And now I think I still love you – always did in some way or another – but I don't know."  
  
Mort pulled away, looking her in the eyes. "We could take it slow," he said, or perhaps he was asking, he really wasn't sure.  
  
She nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good."  
  
He gave her a quick, small smile before reaching for the note. _**Tomorrow at 3 meet me where we first met. Things will get settled. Leave the police out of it. Bring your missus.  
**_  
"Are we going to go?" Amy whispered.  
  
"I don't think we've got much of a choice."  
  
------------------  
  
Dawnie-7: I'm sorry, but it will have Amy/Mort stuff, obviously after this chapter. I'm a big fan of happy endings and endless fluff. ::grins:: hope that's not going to run you off! Amy was a real witch to poor Mort, but I'm hoping to fix all that. Hopefully! Thanks for reviewing :)  
  
LaVieSansAmour: As long as your not going to come to my house with a manuscript and say "you stole my story" we'll be fine. Lol! I'm on the epilogue of the book and I think I like some parts of the book better and some parts of the movie better. I tell you what I mean after you get done with the book. Don't want to spoil it for you, as I have a habit of doing. I'm glad you understood what I was trying to say! Yay! I'm glad the story is scary, because I've never thought of myself as much of a thriller/suspense writer, so I'm entering new territory here. Sorry to have killed Ted, but I really hated him. (well, I don't REALLY hate anyone, but him I'm on the verge of it...) If he'd just kept himself to himself then maybe Amy and Mort's marriage would have worked and Mort wouldn't have gone crazy (but then we wouldn't have this story to write, eh? So I guess he did me a favor, in some twisted, warped way) I'll try to hurry up on "Family Ties" but for now I'm going to go take a nice nap b/c rain makes me sleepy and I've got to go babysitting tonight. I'll get ideas for little Bill, how's that sound?  
  
TrappedandAnnoyed: Glad to see you here! Thanks for reviewing!  
  
Well I'm off to sleep! See ya'll later. 


	4. ch4

**IV**  
  
A/N: well I had my downtime and then went a babysitting, got my skull knocked in by one and now have a massive headache.... Ah well, they're adorable kids, if not the quietest lot.  
  
---------------------  
  
Mort stirred early the next morning – well, earlier than usual. He shifted. When had he come to bed? Ah yes, after the incident with he and Amy deciding to "take it slow." He raised an eyebrow at her slightly when he saw her still form curled up against his, her blond hair tickling his nose.  
  
He shifted his weight, waking her as he did so. "You want breakfast?"  
  
"You don't have anything in the fridge," Amy reminded him sleepily.  
  
Her ex husband sat up slowly, reaching for his glasses. "We'll think of something."  
  
Amy swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood. She stopped suddenly, eyes widening. "Did you hear that?"  
  
"I'm not awake enough to hear much of anything, babe," he mumbled, suppressing a yawn.  
  
Amy tossed a pillow in his general direction and started for the door very carefully. Whatever was on the other side was potentially dangerous to their health. Whatever was on the other side was potentially John Shooter. That was enough to make her heart speed up. She heard Mort shift and stand behind her, mumbling something about not going out there yet, it was far too early. He'd always been slow to rise and ready to lounge, it was one of the many luxuries of working at home all the time. She had envied him for it, but only every once and a while.  
  
Amy pushed open the door slowly, ready for whatever would be on the other side.  
  
Mort was the rest of his way to his feet when he heard her scream. "Whatisit?!"  
  
Amy had her hand over her heart, laughing unsteadily and looking at a shaken Mrs. Gavin. "I'm so sorry," she began.  
  
"Amy!" Mrs. Gavin exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here?"  
  
Amy gave her a small smile. "Some things.... happened. You remember John Shooter from a couple months ago? He was on the news. He's out and trying to kill Mort and me. He... he killed Ted already."  
  
"Oh my! I'm terribly sorry!"  
  
Amy nodded her thanks. "Mort was kind enough to let me stay here with him, since I have no where to go, really..."  
  
Mrs. Gavin looked to where Mort was now standing, only half awake as it were, and gave a knowing smile. "I'm sure he's been very kind to you," was all she said before turning. "I'll be cleaning the house this morning, if either of you need anything. What about breakfast?"  
  
"Nothing in the fridge," Mort answered as he finally made his way over to the door.  
  
Amy shook her head as she followed. Hadn't she said that not five minutes before?  
  
---------------------  
  
"So what's our plan? You did have a plan, don't you?" Amy asked as they got out of the car to go to Bowie's.  
  
"We'll go eat breakfast..."  
  
"Real good start," she muttered sarcastically.  
  
"Yeah, thought as much. Then we'll go to the cops and tell them what the note said. I'll convince them to let me go to deal with it and maybe bring one of the with me."  
  
"And what about me?"  
  
"You'll stay at the station."  
  
Amy stopped dead in her tracks. "So you'll go by yourself?"  
  
"Planning on it."  
  
"Mort!"  
  
Mort and Amy both turned to where Gerda Bowie was waving. "Heard your old friend got out of jail, hmm? Heya there, Amy. Long time no see."  
  
Amy forced a smile. "How are you, Gerda?"  
  
Gerda grinned. "You two getting back together?" she asked. "That's news."  
  
"Never said we were," Amy said as she pulled a stool up.  
  
Mort sighed as quietly as he could manage. While Amy was opposed to people sticking their noses in their business (and this was probably why she had answered the way she did) it still made him wonder if the night before had all been her shock from Ted's death and today things were going to go back to the screaming and shouting and accusing. He didn't think he could handle letting himself get too far into this and it coming to that. He'd have to watch where he let his heart wander back to.  
  
"I forgot something from the car," Mort mumbled as he disappeared out the door and down to the car. He frowned when he saw a small note stuck to the windshield wiper. _It's advertisement..._ he told himself silently.  
  
_ But no one really puts advertisements out in this parking lot._  
  
_Shut up.  
_  
His conversation with himself was cut off as he picked up the note.  
  
_ I was right.  
_  
"I said shut it," Mort growled quietly.  
  
"What'd you say, Mort?"  
  
Mort whirled around to see Amy. He fought a nervous look. He'd been out by himself far too long. "Nothing." He read the note quietly and turned back to her. "We've got trouble."  
  
"Tell me something I don't know."  
  
"Shooter says we're supposed to meet him as soon as we get the note. What, did he know what I was thinking?"  
  
Amy laughed slightly. "That would require him being either right with us –which he's not – or in your head, which would be a place not many would venture." She kissed him lightly on the cheek and opened the car door. "So are we going?"  
  
"Amy, he'll kill us."  
  
"No he won't because I've all ready got men stationed there to watch your backs and catch 'im," Newsome said from behind Mort, making the younger man jump.  
  
"So we're bait?"  
  
"If you want to put it that way."  
  
Mort grimaced. "Then we're bait. Let's get going."  
  
-----------------------  
  
Mort pulled the car up to a place in the middle of the woods and parked it. He swallowed slightly as he and Amy stepped out. Amy was at his side, her hand clutching his. "We'll be okay," she whispered.  
  
"Hope you're right."  
  
She tried to laugh. "I'm always right, why have you not figured this out?"  
  
He gave her a forced smile at her attempt to lighten the situation. Something didn't seem right, and he knew it and she knew it. He knew she'd gotten one of her feelings about this, and that's why she'd talked to Newsome in Bowie's between the time that he walked out and the time when she followed. Or had she talked to him before? He didn't know, to be honest, but there were only so many minutes in between there. _Kinda like the minutes between getting from Tashmore Lake to Derry and to burn a house down and back and then to kill a dog, hmm?  
_  
_Shut up, that wasn't me,_ Mort answered the persistent voice. _That was Shooter, and you're just trying to confuse me so I think differently. Amy's seen him. I'm not crazy.  
_  
_Keep telling yourself that, because a part of Shooter might still be in you. And what if he is? What if he uses a possible rekindling relationship to get to Amy and fix his story?  
  
_ Mort found himself gripping his ex wife's hand just a little tighter. I_ didn't let him hurt her before, I won't now.  
_  
The voice chuckled in his head. _What good did you do? Tackled him, but if Ted hadn't been there then Shooter would have shoved you aside and killed her. Ted saved the day. Face it, Mort Rainey, you are nothing in her eyes.  
_  
"You okay, babe?" Amy asked quietly, almost afraid to disturb what appeared to be an internal battle within the tense author. "You look sick. You not feeling better this morning?"  
  
"I'm fine," he managed. He pushed his hair back with his free hand, stopped, and turned to face her. "Amy... listen, no matter what happened eight months ago, you know I'm always going to love you, right?"  
  
"Mort...."  
  
"I know, sorry, but...."  
  
Amy smiled through tears budding in her eyes. "I love you too, Mort," she whispered as she reached up to kiss him lightly on the lips.  
  
"Sweet, it really is," a southern voice said, breaking the couple apart. John Shooter was leaning against a tree, eyeing them. "Glad to see you here, Mr. Rainey. I didn't know if you'd come."  
  
Mort eyed the man carefully, pulling Amy closer. He wasn't sure how much he could do against Shooter, but he'd sure as hell try.  
  
"Don't be looking for no cops, Mr. Rainey," Shooter drawled. "They got in the way of our business." He pointed upward.  
  
Mort and Amy looked up slowly to see the young man that had asked for the autograph earlier hanging from the tree. He had a screwdriver driven into his skull. Amy cupped her hands over her mouth, stifling a scream of terror.  
  
"It's just you, me, and your missus, Mr. Rainey. Just the way it should be."  
  
"She shouldn't be apart of this," Mort said quickly.  
  
"Oh, but you didn't leave me a choice in it, Mr. Rainey. You brought her into this, one way or another. Now she'll die here. Right is right and fair is fair, after all," Shooter said with a frightening smile. "And no where to run."  
  
-------------------------  
  
A/N: Wohoo! Cliff hanger!  
  
Dawnie-7: Yay! Glad to hear your sticking around! Thanks very much! :)  
  
TrappedandAnnoyed: I know! That's what I was like! When he was about to kill her I thought "Mort's gonna win out and he and Amy are going to get back together after Mort basically tells Shooter to take a hike outa his head!" And then he killed her.... ::sighs:: Oh well... That's why I'm writing this.  
  
(Any readers that don't want to know the ending to the book version of this, please don't read my comments!) LaVieSansAmour: Yeah, I know.... I loved that part of the book, just not Mort dying. It was so sad because he came back to being Mort and then keeled over! I was so sad! I was sitting in a restaurant with my dad and I just sat there staring in utter shock, mumbling, "They killed him...." Oh, my friend, haven't you realized yet that my favorite characters NEVER catch a break with me writing? ::grins:: I'll try to work on "Family Ties" tomorrow.... Only problem is I'm getting an idea for another movie fic b/c I just recently saw Sleepy Hollow (never saw it before now). I've been on a Johnny Depp/horror flick kick as of late. Oh well, I'll try to work on the Pirates fic before going onto other story lines. 


	5. ch5

**V  
**  
"Oh there are places to run," Mort mumbled as he grabbed Amy's hand and pulled her after him. They'd get out of here as quick as they could. Newsome's idea had failed. He briefly wondered if the elderly man was somewhere in the brush as well. It wouldn't surprise him.  
  
Shooter was in front of them before they knew what happened. "No sir," he answered in his southern drawl. "No sir there ain't. You're going to finish that story of mine." He grabbed Amy away from Mort and pulled her face towards his. "And she's going to be the one to help ya, isn't she, Mr. Rainey?"  
  
"Leave her alone. This isn't Secret Window! This is REAL, Shooter. Leave Amy alone!"  
  
"But you don't seem to willing to fix the story, Mr. Rainey, so I'll have to be doing that."  
  
"What do you mean 'fix the story'?" Amy managed, fear in her voice.  
  
"You see, Mrs. Rainey, your husband – 'scuse me, ex husband – should have fixed my story by killin' you two months ago, but he got outa it some how. Now right is right and fair is fair and it's long time due that he go about fixing it, or I do. You're 'spose to die here today, missy."  
  
"I won't let you," Mort managed as he struggled to find a way to back up his threat.  
  
"You won't let me, hmm, Mr. Rainey? I am you, in a way, wouldn't ya say?"  
  
Mort looked thoroughly horrified at this comment. "No..."  
  
"You know I am," Shooter grinned. "You mighta forced me out, but ya can't deny it forever. Part of you wanted to kill her and you were gonna use me to do that, weren't ya?"  
  
Mort felt panic rise in him. "That's not true."  
  
_Yes it is. You know it is.  
_  
"No... it's not true... I'd never hurt Amy." Mort felt his head swim. His fever was back with a vengeance and he knew it. He vaguely wondered how much of this was real. Maybe it was all some insane hallucination his mind had thought up... But if that were the case, when did it begin? Was Amy real? Had the affair been real? Maybe he was just some deranged lunatic sitting in his little padded cell, rocking back and forth with his dreams coming and going in and out of reality and there was no way to tell what was real and what wasn't. He felt his knees buckle beneath him and he fell to the ground, hand pressed against his head.  
  
"You just keep tellin' yourself that, Mr. Rainey," Shooter said as he tossed Amy to the ground next to her. "Ya know, if a person hears something long enough the start to believe it. Is that it in your case, Mr. Rainey?"  
  
Amy reached a shaky hand to where her ex husband sat with his hands pressed firmly against his face. "Mort, are you all right? Mort, look at me, you're scaring me."  
  
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. He forced himself to look at her, and then to look at Shooter, who was no longer there. He sighed with relief and felt Amy wrap an unsteady arm around him. He sank down into her embrace and sighed again. "What's real in all this and what's not?" he murmured.  
  
"I don't know everything about this, do I?"  
  
Mort shook his head, regretting the action as soon as he did. "Let's get home," he whispered. "We'll call the station from there and then I'll do my best to explain everything." He looked at her with uncertain eyes. "You won't think I'm crazy, will you?"  
  
Amy smiled and laughed a bit. "No, of course not, Mort."  
  
"Don't say it so quickly," he answered. "Because I'm not so sure myself."  
  
--------------------------  
  
Mort explained everything to the best of his ability. As an author he had never had trouble with words, so why did he have trouble now? _Because you're admitting to your ex wife that you might be certifiable,_ that pesky little voice answered his question.  
  
_But crazy people don't know they're crazy.  
_  
_Oh but they know something's off, let me assure you.  
  
And you'd know this how?  
_  
_ I'm you, Mort. I know you're nuts.  
_  
_Comforting_.  
  
He waited as Amy stood from her place where she had sat herself down. She walked slowly to the small window. Her secret window. "You're not crazy," she said at length. "I know that much. I've seen him too, so I know you're not crazy. Maybe he's just trying to make you think you are, thinking that he was a part of your subconscious, or some crap like that, hmm?"  
  
"Think about it, Amy," Mort answered slowly. "No information on him, you said yourself that it was strange."  
  
"I did. I didn't mean this kind of strange. I meant reasonably explainable strange."  
  
"Well, maybe there is a reasonable explanation."  
  
"I hope so." She turned back to him. "You called the cops, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What'd they say?"  
  
"That they'd go check it out and send someone over here."  
  
"Why aren't they here yet?"  
  
Mort stood when he heard a noise downstairs. "He's toying with us."  
  
Amy came up behind him, shaking. "Let's get out of here, please."  
  
Mort nodded, glancing around them. "Good idea."  
  
-----------------------------  
  
A/N: Hey ya'll! Thanks for reading! Umm.. I know a lot of people don't pray, but if you do could I ask for you to pray for a good friend of mine's brother-in-law. He's very sick and dying and it's very tough on the family. I know my friend would appreciate it and I'm sure his brother-in- law would too. Thanks very much. TS  
  
TrappedandAnnoyed: ::grins evilly:: I do love angst, and if Amy got hurt that would bring about a lot of angst......  
  
LaVieSansAmour: Thanks very much! Poor Mort though, I'm putting him through such a stressful time. If I'm not careful he might have a nervous break down. I'm glad you didn't see it coming! That means part of my job is complete! I like it when my twists are unforeseeable. :) Hmm.. I'll have to look into the other movies. Are they horror/thriller? That's the mood I've been into for movies as of late. Of course anything with Johnny Depp in it will suffice... ::grins::  
  
Dawnie-7: No! Don't die! Then you can't review! That would be sad! Then I would be sad and couldn't write and then no one else would review and I'd get even sadder and it'd be a horrible, horrible cycle.... Sorry... got a bit carried away. Please don't die! :)  
  
Hollow-ambitions: Such wonderful ideas! A fellow torture-the-main-character- to-fill-the-angst-addiction fan! Good good. Glad you like it and hope that the fifth chapter reached expectations. 


	6. ch6

**VI  
**  
"You don't think I'll let you go that quickly, do ya?"  
  
Mort pulled Amy closer to him. She could feel the heat radiating off his body and glanced up at him. His eyes were heavy looking, exhausted. She wanted to ask him how long it had been since he had a real night's sleep. Eight months?  
  
"What good is this going to do you, Shooter?" Mort called out, his voice sounding raspy.  
  
"We need to get out. Now," Amy said quietly in his hear.  
  
"I'm not sure we can," Mort answered in the same tone. They moved slowly towards the stairs, almost afraid to see what would be at the end. "Down!"  
  
Amy didn't stop to ask why, but ducked with him. An axe slammed into the wall next to where they had been. Shooter grabbed Mort as Amy started to run down the stairs. He let out a startled yelp, eyes wide. He gave a sharp tug and he fell free of the taller man's grasp, tumbling down the stairs after his ex wife. He stuck the bottom with a sickening thud and rolled to a stop.  
  
"Mort?" Amy shrieked, running to him. She shook him – harder than she really meant to – trying to rouse him before Shooter made his way down the stairs. The man came menacingly towards them. "Mort, please wake up."  
  
The man in question stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. He reached up to find his glasses gone and cursed angrily. Amy reached over and picked them up from where they'd fallen. "Now come on!"  
  
Mort stumbled clumsily to his feet, find his way back down to the floor as quickly as he had before. He lay there for a moment. He forced back a coughing fit – hadn't he all ready been through the phase of a typical cold a day or two ago? – and struggled to his feet. Amy was at the door, eyes turned frantically on him. Why couldn't he make himself move? Why were his knees buckling again? _You're not going to be able to get up.  
_  
_ I've noticed, thanks._  
  
"Get out Amy!" he managed before falling the rest of the way to the floor. He felt as if it were two months before. But no one was there to help them now. No Ted with a cell phone. No cops being called on the cell phone. Just them and their stupidity with coming back to the lake house. How foolish can two people be?  
  
He vaguely saw Shooter grab Amy by her wrist and toss her back into the house. Mort looked up as best he could from his place where he'd fallen. Shooter squatted down next to him. "See, Mr. Rainey, we've got a problem. You've ruined the ending to my story and won't fix it, so that means I've got to change it around, you see?"  
  
Mort glared as best he could.  
  
Shooter took him by the roots of his hair and jerked upwards. The author let out a small moan and felt himself stumbling up and was tossed onto the couch next to Amy. She reached a shaky hand to his face and pulled away. "My word, Mort... Don't you know how to take care of yourself when you're sick? If you'd gone to bed three days ago when I'm sure all this started then we wouldn't be in this mess."  
  
Mort glared. "Sorry, all my fault, per the usual," he answered sarcastically.  
  
"That's not what I was saying."  
  
"That's exactly what you were saying."  
  
"What I was saying was-"  
  
"That you'd like to tell me everything I've done wrong for the past ten years, right?"  
  
Shooter watched the two yell back and forth for a moment before he cleared his throat. "If you're gonna save me the trouble, Mr. Rainey...."  
  
"Shut it!" Mort growled. He stopped suddenly, his head spinning like it had a moment before. This wasn't good. It had only been a cold. Why was it turning out so horrible now? And why was she back to her normal "it's all Mort's fault" ways? He thought maybe, just maybe they had come back to the way it had been before. Or was she always like that and he'd just overlooked it?  
  
"How are you going to change your ending around?" Amy asked quietly, eyes fixated on Shooter's.  
  
"Not only does the man kill his wife, but he lives with such guilt over it he might just commit suicide, Mrs. Rainey. I think that might be a right nice ending as well, don't you?"  
  
Amy shook where she sat. "You're going to kill the both of us?"  
  
"I'd rather just kill you," he answered, "but Mr. Rainey seems intent on sticking his plagiarizing nose into all this mess."  
  
"I didn't steal your damn story! It was mine!"  
  
"But you took someone's," Shooter pointed out.  
  
Mort's eyes narrowed. "Go to hell."  
  
"You and your missus first, Mr. Rainey," John Shooter growled as he produced a pair of scissors from behind his back and lunged at them.  
  
Mort shoved Amy off the couch and followed as quickly as his sleep deprived, illness diluted reflexes would let him.  
  
Amy felt herself fall backwards, head striking a table, jostling a draw open in it. She felt upward in and her hand clenched a gun as she heard Mort cry out. She turned her eyes back to where Shooter was over him, Mort struggling to stay away from the psychotic man. The scissors he held were bloodied and Amy saw Mort favoring his left arm. I know it wasn't loaded then, Mort, but you damn well better have it loaded now, she thought as she fired the weapon.  
  
John shooter stumbled back, eyes wide. "You got a might protective over somethin' not yours, missy," he mumbled before falling against the wall.  
  
Mort crawled to where Amy sat shaking. He took the gun in his own hands with wide eyes. "It wasn't loaded..." he mumbled. "This gun wasn't loaded. I haven't touched it in eight months...."  
  
"Was too loaded, and you know it," Shooter said from his place. "You always knew that I lurked beneath it all, didn't ya, pilgrim? Now what when I die? You think you'll be rid of me? CAN you be rid of me?"  
  
Mort turned angry eyes on John Shooter and fired the weapon again. "I'll be rid of you," he mumbled. "If it's between you and me, I'll win."  
  
_So you did it, hmm? _The voice chuckled. _Have to give you credit, Mort, I didn't really think you'd finish it all.  
_  
"Mort?"  
  
He turned to see Amy sitting next to him, her eyes teary and a look of terror across her face. "You haven't touched it since the motel?"  
  
"No, but it wasn't loaded then, so I don't know... Maybe I loaded it when Shooter first showed up and forgot about it."  
  
She shrugged, focusing on the floor before her. Suddenly she launched herself towards him, half tackling him as she hugged him. "I thought he'd killed you for a minute."  
  
Mort smiled slightly. "So do even we get a happy ending after all this?" he mumbled, not even realizing he'd spoken the words out loud.  
  
"You're the author, you tell me," Amy answered as she sat up a bit, now just leaning over him as he lay on the floor.  
  
He gave her a quick smile. "I say... I get up, stop my shoulder from bleeding all over the floor, and then we'll see where the ending goes from there. We're taking this slow, remember?"  
  
"I know." She looked down around to his shoulder as he sat up. "That looks terrible, Mort."  
  
He couldn't help but smile now as he pulled her around and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Thanks for worrying, babe."  
  
She gave him a smile of her own. "Let's get you patched up and close this chapter."  
  
-----------------------  
  
A.N: That's it. My alternate ending. I'll go back to my Pirates of the Caribbean nitch now. I'll wonder out from time to time to write a new movie when I see it. Like the idea that's pestering me about Sleepy Hollow... Hmm... Anyway, I'm glad my story ended happy. That makes me happy. With all the crap in the world, something's got to go right, right? At least in fiction anyway. That's why I like it so much. So very very little like reality. It's soothing.  
  
TrappedandAnnoyed: Thanks so much for all your nice comments! I really do appreciate them. Makes my days go better, it really does. I hope the ending was as good as the rest of it. Thanks for keeping Rick in prayers  
  
Dawnie-7: Hope the end wasn't too much to your disliking, since I know you weren't exactly rooting for the Amy/Mort pairing, but I thank you that you stuck around! And thanks for keeping Rick in mind  
  
Sour Pickle: I just finished the novella. I got soooooo mad at the end. I nearly cried when he looked up at her right there at the end. ::sniffles as she thinks about it:: I despised Ted in the movie and I disliked Amy, but she redeemed herself in my story by getting back together with Mort. ::grins:: Ted redeemed himself... by dying. Lol. That's twisted, I know, but I'm only sadistic in writing, I swear! And it's okay, I understand what you're saying about kinda not having a problem with them dying in the movie. I didn't like it that Amy died. I thought right before he killed her hat he'd win out over Shooter and he'd get Amy in the end! But no... never. So I wrote! That's one of my few talents, so I do it often. I'm glad to hear that I keep the characters in character. That's always a goal for me that I'm not always sure that I do well, but apparently I do in movie fanfics, b/c the people over in the PotC fanfics say I keep Jack Sparrow very in character, so hey, I'm getting better at it! Yay! Hope you liked the story's end! OMG!! I just read your profile and you really live on a lake with Stephen King?! No way! That's cool! Have you actually met him? ::is getting far too excited for her own good::

Hollow-ambitions: Okay, I got your review just as I was about to upload this chapter, so yay! I can respond! Yes, I did love your ideas! I'm a bit of a sadistic writer myself... (go read my Pirates of the Carabbean fics and see what I did to poor Jack lol) I'm glad I could make you happy by updating . Maybe you'll be happy again for this update! hopefully it was worth it  
  
Thanks very much to everyone who read.


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